


Lance Technique

by Spiderlily_Writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Creampie, F/M, Less of a Hatefuck, More of a Rivalryfuck, Territorial Byleth, Vaginal Sex, porn with a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28763502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderlily_Writes/pseuds/Spiderlily_Writes
Summary: After a fairly intense bout in the training grounds with Leonie, Byleth goes to the sauna to relax. Leonie has a similar idea, and their on-field rivalry takes on a new dimension.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Leonie Pinelli
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52





	Lance Technique

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_fan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_fan/gifts).



> Hello all! I wrote het, and the guy isn't even getting pegged. Very off-brand for me, but I had fun with it!

“Just so you know, Leonie, I haven’t used lances in a while; I’m probably a little rusty,” Byleth says, jabbing the butt of the weapon on the ground a couple of times, testing the strength of the shaft. “Take it easy on me, hm?”

Leonie barks out a laugh, twirling her own training lance expertly in one hand like a baton. She makes it look easy, and Byleth tries not to grimace. It’s very possible she’s going to put him on the ground, and that’s not going to be a good look. He can’t have his former students thinking he’s gone soft in the intervening years since he disappeared.

“No excuses, Professor,” Leonie teases, falling into a fighting stance with a cocky smile. “You’re just trying to set your defeat up to be less embarrassing before it happens—and you _know_ it’s going to happen. I can read you like a book.”

Byleth snorts, keeping his expression carefully neutral. There aren’t a _lot_ of people at the training grounds today, but Claude is calling the bouts, and Lorenz watches from a short distance away. Not to mention Leonie, herself. He needs to prove to them that he’s still skilled enough to be in charge—that they haven’t overtaken him. Claude needs that from him, at least. So he sets his feet as well, and casts a quick glance over to von Riegan, who stands with his hands on his hips, surveying the scene.

“First body-shot wins. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he says, cocking the corner of his mouth up in a wolfish grin. “Ready?”

Leonie nods; just a quick incline of her head, but Claude catches it. He looks at Byleth, who nods as well.

Claude sweeps his arm out grandly. “Lay on!” he calls, stepping clear of the range of either of their lances. As far as Byleth and Leonie are concerned, though, he might as well have just ceased to exist. Both of them are intently focused on the fight to come.

The trouble is, Byleth considers as their eyes meet, they were both trained by the same person. Their styles are bound to be similar. Leonie is going to know most of his moves as—or before—he makes them. He won’t have that same advantage, having found that he preferred a sword at a fairly young age and letting his lance training fall by the wayside. He’s outmatched, and he knows it.

Fortunately, there are tricks other than just weapon-play that any good mercenary picks up on the road.

Leonie takes the first step, jabbing out with the lance to test Byleth’s guard. It isn’t found wanting; he manages to bat the weapon away fairly easily. She does it again, coming in from the other side, and again, he manages to knock it away. She’s focused, her eyes flickering to each part of him as he moves, sizing him up carefully, trying to find a single, thin weakness she can exploit.

That’s a key to lances and spears, Byleth knows. It’s difficult to just _overpower_ someone with one, like you can with a sword or an axe. You have to be careful. Precise. But if you can find that _one_ weakness, that one gap in your opponent’s armor, you can drive your weapon home and have the fight over before they even know it’s begun.

They continue like that, Leonie throwing test-shots at him, and him responding in kind. She jabs, he blocks. She jabs again, he blocks again. He can see that she’s getting frustrated.

“You just gonna stand there, Professor?” she calls, obviously trying to bait him. “You scared of getting hit or something? Don’t want me to mess up that pretty face?”

“All bark, no bite,” Byleth counters. “Sloppy.”

He sweeps out with his lance, putting his weight behind not a thrust, but a swing, moving to knock the head of her weapon completely out of the way. Leonie braces for it, he can see her grit her teeth, but it’s not enough. Her lance goes wide, and Byleth jabs out at her dominant arm, striking it with the side of his lance. It’s not a hit to her center mass, so it won’t win the fight, but it _does_ rattle her.

He isn’t sure whether his hit or his words are what did it, but Leonie resets her stance with renewed determination and stares him down, ignoring what has to be at least a _little_ pain in her upper arm.

She _snarls_ , taking a step forward and driving out with her lance in a quick three-hit flurry. Byleth blinks in surprise, taking a step back to avoid the shot and get out of her range. “I was trying to be _nice_ , since you said you were rusty, but fine. If you want it hard, I’ll _give_ it to you hard,” she says. She sounds confident, but not in a hotheaded, sort of way, like he might have expected from her when she was younger. She simply sounds as though she’s decided how the fight will play out, and she’s waiting for Byleth to fall into line.

The two of them trade a few more blows. This time, they fly quick and sharp. Neither of them wastes an inch of thrust or even a little bit of force. The shots are expertly aimed and thrown, and each manages to land a couple of hits on the other. Leonie gets his shoe, and his wrist. Byleth hits her other arm. It doesn’t take long for Byleth to break a sweat, and he sees that Leonie isn’t far behind.

Her hair, despite being tied off to the side, sticks to her slick, glistening skin. Leonie’s training tunic and trousers both cling to her torso as well, in ways that are…distracting, to say the least. He doesn’t know if she wore such breezy, thin clothing on purpose, or if she simply hadn’t considered it, but the effect is the same.

Byleth has always respected Leonie’s competence as a fighter, and they’d seen each other through quite a few battles when she was properly his student, but now he sees her in a new light. She isn’t merely a soldier under his command, nor a student under his tutelage. She’s older, stronger, now his _peer_ , rather than his protégé, and the idea makes him freeze for a moment.

She takes advantage of his lapse in concentration and steps close, grinning, driving her weapon up inside his guard. He grunts in surprise, drawn out of his head and back to the fight. She’s expecting him to step back so that she can swing up and jab him in the ribs, so he does the opposite.

He steps closer, raising his hands and keeping his lance between the two of them to prevent her from disengaging easily. They’re mere inches apart, each straining against the other, trying to break the lock—so close that Byleth can feel the heat off her body, and smell the clean sweat that comes from such exertion.

Byleth meets her eyes. They’re…fierce, and beautiful, and striking, and he recognizes the passion in them. She sees something similar in his, presumably, because her own eyes widen and she falters for a moment, before twisting her weapon and dancing out of the way, returning to a spot near her original starting point.

She blinks, and so does he. Both of them are seemingly equally shaken. He can’t put his finger on _what_ , exactly, just happened, but he can say that at her closeness, at her warmth, at that _passion_ he felt radiating off of her in waves, something stirred inside him. It’s not a feeling he’s used to, so he shoves it away to keep it from distracting him any further.

Leonie seems to be shaken, too, for just a moment. But she takes only as much time to push it away as he did, and within a few seconds, the two of them are trading blows once more.

It’s furious, and there’s a renewed sense of… _need_ to it. It’s like a dance, each coming mere inches away from scoring a killing blow, but neither managing to make it. But that’s not good enough. Byleth will win today. He _must_ win today. He feels, somehow, somewhere, that he has to show Leonie which of them is in charge. It’s deeply personal, in a way that goes beyond the bounds of this one bout.

But she fights just as hard, and just as well, and the two of them are so evenly matched that Byleth considers the very real possibility that one of them might drop from exhaustion before a hit is ever scored. Their weapons move like two parts of the same whole, each an extension of the wielder’s body, and of their will.

It’s a stalemate, and Byleth decides that enough is enough.

He swings out with his lance again, growling, much as he had done earlier when he was trying to knock hers out of the way. This time, though, he steps in closer, shoving the point to the ground between her legs and pushing _out_ , toward the inside of her foot, utterly destroying her stance and causing her to stagger, off balance. It’s a dirty trick, but it _works_. Byleth exhales in relief, jumping forward to plant a shot right in Leonie’s gut.

But Leonie isn’t there.

He had counted on Leonie being caught off guard and trying to right herself, but she _doesn’t_. Instead, she falls to the ground on her knee, grunting in pain as she hits, and drives her own spear forward at him as he closes the distance.

His momentum is too strong, and he can’t dodge. His eyes widen as he feels the end of her weapon brush past him, her own thrust just _barely_ too wide. But he had counted on the impact of his own weapon against Leonie to stop him from going forward, to arrest that forward momentum, and it doesn’t.

The tip of his own lance goes wide as well, slamming against the ground, the padded end of the thing causing it to ricochet away and fly from his hand, but _Byleth_ keeps moving. He lets it go, falling forward, and collides with Leonie. It drives the pair to the ground together, and both of them cry out in shock at the impact as a cloud of dirt rises around them.

For a moment, everything is utter confusion as they tumble together, the world spinning around furiously and haphazardly. When the dust settles and Byleth once more can place which direction is ‘up’, he opens his eyes.

There, atop him, is Leonie. She’s straddling his hips in a very…compromising sort of way, and both of her hands are planted firmly on his shoulders, pinning him to the ground.

“I won,” she says, panting. Sweat drips down from her forehead to his, further emphasizing her exhaustion. “Double disarm, but I came out on top. I won.” He feels like that isn’t _really_ the most important thing right now, but it’s also fairly hard to argue with her, given where they’re positioned.

Leonie presses down on his shoulders, harder, a cocky smile once more spreading across her face. Which, now that Byleth really looks at it, is pleasantly flushed. “Beat you,” she adds, and her weight shifts slightly backward, driving her hips down onto his own, grinding against him. He feels something stir, physically this time, rather than emotionally, and he grunts noncommittally, trying to get her to move.

Byleth… _really_ hopes Leonie doesn’t feel that, but by the way her eyes widen and her lips part in a surprised little gasp, he knows the hope is a futile one. He feels his own face grow hot, and he takes advantage of her surprise to toss her off of him with one quick motion. The second her weight is gone, he rolls to the side and comes to his feet, quickly and subtly readjusting himself to make what just happened a _little_ less obvious.

He extends a hand down to Leonie and she takes it, hauling herself to her feet, using him as an anchor. The moment seems to have passed, _whatever_ it was, and Leonie’s expression now is one of smug satisfaction.

“Pretty sure you owe me a drink or something,” she remarks, crossing her arms and smiling triumphantly.

“I don’t remember making any such agreement,” Byleth says.

Claude laughs, approaching them and clapping his hands, slowly.

“Goddess, _that_ was something to behold. For a second I was wondering if you were legitimately going to try to kill each other, or something.”

Byleth catches Leonie’s eye. Her smile widens, and her eyes flick downward to his waist, then back up again. He looks away, quickly.

Or something, indeed.

—❦—

Byleth hasn’t been able to get Leonie off his mind since that afternoon.

Could anyone blame him, really? It was a good fight; he hadn’t had one like it in a long time. It left him feeling exhausted in all the right ways, let him reconnect with someone he cares about, and let him practice a skill he’d been neglecting for far too long.

Of course, there was also the other thing.

It’s probably somewhere around midnight, by now. He went through the entire rest of his day and evening, thinking about the way Leonie landed on him at the end of their fight. The way she moved, the way she wiggled ever so slightly, probably _innocently_ , even. Surely, she didn’t mean anything by it. And yet he had reacted like a teenager that had never even _seen_ a woman before. It was embarrassing, and he’s been replaying the moment over and over in his head for the last ten hours or so, wondering if she’s making fun of him with one of her friends. Probably. He wouldn’t blame her for it.

Not only can Byleth not sleep, but the incident had reminded him exactly how _painfully_ pent up he is. He could always take care of the problem himself, of course, could always picture Leonie grinding down onto his cock, perhaps in private, rather than on the training ground in front of everyone. Perhaps wearing less clothing. Maybe even—

He groans, throwing his blankets off and trying to ignore the throbbing hardness between his legs. Handling the problem manually isn’t likely going to help, and it _certainly_ won’t get the image out of his head, so he elects for a distraction instead. Byleth rolls out of bed, pads over to the trunk where he stores his clothes, grabs a towel, and changes into his sauna ensemble. If he can’t force the images out of his head, maybe he can sweat them out; he’s still pretty sore from the beating, anyways, and it’ll help his aching muscles.

The walk from his room to the sauna is actually fairly short, but he hastens, regardless, because the last thing he needs is for someone to see him half-hard and heading across the Monastery at midnight. He can only imagine the stories that would come of _that_.

Byleth slips into the building without so much as glancing around, certain that nobody else would be there _this_ late at night. As he does, he notices that the heating element in the front of the room appears to be turned on, glowing softly and illuminating the space with a faint orange radiance. The room is also filled with steam already, which is fairly strange, because it must have been _hours_ since the last person used it. Unless…

“Hey, Professor. Shut the door behind you, you’re letting all the steam out,” Leonie calls from across the room. “Kind of defeats the purpose of a sauna, don’t you think?”

His heart skips a beat, and Byleth _almost_ cries out in surprise, but he manages to restrain himself at the last second and only lets out a short, shocked gasp. He _does_ have the presence of mind to close the door, though, and he kicks it shut behind him with a soft, muted ‘thud’.

Leonie is absolutely the _last_ person he needs to see right now, but there’s not really anything he can do at this point. He could turn and leave, at which point she’d be even more irritated with him than she probably already is, and he’d run the risk of someone spotting him running back to his room, which would be even more embarrassing than just staying.

Byleth sighs, defeated, and crosses the room to join Leonie. He doesn’t sit too close, leaving a couple of feet of space between them, but he also doesn’t want to sit too far away and give the impression that he’s avoiding her. He feels like he shouldn’t need to consider positioning so closely when he’s not on the battlefield, but that’s just life, isn’t it?

They sit in silence for a few minutes, letting steam rise to replace that which Byleth let out. It’s hot, hotter than most can tolerate, but he supposes that’s just about right for Leonie. She doesn’t do anything halfway. She breaks the silence first, mirroring the beginning of their fight today in a manner for which he is very grateful.

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” she asks, conversationally. It’s as though there’s nothing between them at all. Which, in fairness, Byleth supposes there isn’t.

He sighs. “No. Couldn’t. Don’t usually have that problem,” he says, keeping his tone neutral, just as friendly, just as conversational. Nobody would be able to imply anything untoward, certainly.

There’s another moment of silence; companionate, this time.

“What’s on your mind?” she asks, eventually. “Something wrong? You worried about the next mission?”

“No, not really,” he says, daring to look over at her. She’s…Goddess, she’s just as gorgeous as she was earlier that day. Her hair is loose now, and she’s in those damnably small sauna shorts that expose her legs far too much to be proper anywhere else, as well as a shirt that lets him see the toned, lovely muscles of her arms. Despite the moist heat of the room, he feels his mouth run dry, and that same, undeniable _hunger_ that he felt, when she was sitting on top of him, returns with a vengeance. That need to dominate. To have her beneath him, to—

His train of thought is interrupted, once more, by her voice.

“Got it. Upset about how I kicked your ass earlier, then,” she taunts, and he feels his face flare hotter than the room in which they sit. “Jeralt’s finest student, even now.”

He takes a deep breath, tries to stay rational, despite the fact that he currently wants to be on top of her in two very, _very_ different ways. It’s innocent teasing, that’s all. Normal, for two fighters who respect each other, who train and fight so closely.

“Not even close. You got lucky,” he says, frustration leaking into his tone despite his best efforts. “Next time, I’ll have you on your back in less than a minute.”

She snorts. “Oh, yeah, I bet you’d _love_ to put me on my back, huh, Byleth?” she says, and there’s something else there. It isn’t just Leonie’s normal, cocky attitude. She sounds…suggestive? Or is he hearing things? He has to be hearing things.

“You—"

“If your cock was any indication earlier, though, maybe you’d rather _I_ was on top of _you_ , instead,” Leonie interrupts, and Byleth chokes on his next words, turning to look at her. She’s standing, now, arms crossed and one eyebrow cocked in question.

Byleth comes to his feet as well. He tries in vain to find _something_ to say, but it’s too much to process all at once, so the two of them simply face each other. He watches Leonie, sees her sizing him up and evaluating him. She smirks. “Come on, Byleth. Prove me wrong.”

Ordinarily, Byleth would probably be at least a _little_ concerned about the ethics of such a request, but any parts of his mind that might otherwise be dedicated to normal, reasonable thought have completely shut down. All of those concerns and considerations have been replaced by one inescapable imperative.

He is going to put Leonie in her place. Where she belongs. Beneath _him_.

Byleth closes the distance between the two of them so quickly that he sees her eyes widen in shock, as though she hadn’t actually considered that he would take her up on her challenge. He grabs her by the front of her too-tight shirt, pushes her back a couple of steps, and puts her back to the wall of the sauna. Leaning in close, his face mere inches from hers, he finally finds the words he’s been looking for.

“You want me to prove you wrong, Leonie?” he demands. “Fine. But you asked for it.”

Once she manages to recover from the surprise of Byleth’s advance, a smile spreads across her lips. “You can’t dish out _anything_ that I can’t take.”

He presses his lips to hers, immediately, passionately, as he’s wanted to do all day long. She gasps into his mouth, but sinks into the kiss within moments. Leonie doesn’t melt, though, she is no wilting flower. She returns his intensity, his passion, just as well. Her mouth is hot on his, her tongue pushes between his lips and against his own, and she deepens the kiss without waiting for an invitation. Her hands snake around behind him, reaching up, landing on his back, her nails digging into the skin beneath his shirt despite being trimmed fairly short.

Byleth _welcomes_ it. He _loves_ it. His own hands find their way to her, one going to her hip to hold her steady, one going to her chest. He palms one of her breasts, squeezing hard, and that makes her groan into him in a way that only spurs him on further.

The hand on her hip slips around to her backside, gripping tight, just like his other one. Her fingers clench tighter on the back of his shirt and she bucks against him, not trying to free herself, but trying to push her hips against his; to grind herself forward. Judging by her behavior, she was affected by their encounter that afternoon just as intensely as he was. They both need this release, and he’s only too happy to provide.

He brings both hands up to the hem of her shirt, gripping it and pulling upward, whipping the shirt off with a force that suggests he’s angry at it for daring to be in the way. It goes flying off toward some unknown corner of the sauna, abruptly forgotten by both of them. Leonie grunts as she mirrors the gesture, tugs Byleth’s shirt off in much the same way, and lets it join her own.

Bringing his hands down to her torso, he grips her tight, running his fingers up her sides and his palms over her toned, muscled stomach, taking in every curve, every turn of her body as though he’s afraid he might forget, later. He wants to savor this, wants every single inch of her to be his, under his hand, under his _control,_ but she doesn’t seem as though she’s willing to go down without a fight.

Leonie slips one leg around his own, behind him, and pushes forward _hard_ , sending him sprawling to the hardwood floor on his back. He gasps in pain and surprise, but before he has a chance to push himself up to his feet, she follows him down, pouncing like a wildcat that’s finally managed to subdue its supper.

She’s on him, eagerly, needily, burying a hand in his hair and pulling his head back to expose his neck, which she nuzzles into and bites down on, drawing a quick, sharp cry from him at the sensation. She does it twice more, sinking her teeth into him in a way that is _distinctly_ pleasant, while grinding her hips down onto his own, in a near mirror of the result of their duel.

“Is this what you’re after, _Professor_?” she breathes against his skin, all heat and sharpness and desire. “You want a strong woman to push you down and ravish you? You can admit it, you know, there’s no shame in that.”

If he’s being honest, there’s a part of him that _does_ want that. But that part of him is outweighed—by _far_ —by the part of him that’s screaming to flip Leonie over and rip the rest of her clothes off. So, not in the habit of ignoring what seems to be good judgement, he does exactly that.

Byleth waits until she’s distracted by nipping at his ear, then pushes off the ground and heaves Leonie off him. It’s hard; she’s basically all muscle and that makes her heavier than one might otherwise assume, but he’s successful. She goes to the side with a yelp, just as she did earlier that day, but _unlike_ earlier, Byleth doesn’t stand up. He follows her, rolling over onto her and pinning her shoulders to the ground with both hands.

She’s shocked for a moment, perhaps even dazed, but it doesn’t last long. Leonie squirms, trying to push him off her, but he’s not about to get caught off guard like she did. His grip is firm, and he gets one knee between her legs, grinding upward slightly into her. She gasps at him, her eyes going wide, and a little extra color finding its way to her cheeks.

“B-Byleth, not fair, you’re bigger than me,” she complains, her hands finding his biceps and holding tight, as if to brace herself.

Byleth clicks his tongue. “Really? Not fair? Would you use that excuse during a fight?” he asks, driving his leg up against her shorts, pressing against her cunt _hard_ . The grip on his arms intensifies, and she whines. “You asked for this, Leonie. So I’m going to show you exactly why _I’m_ in charge, and _you’re_ my subordinate. Unless you want to tap out and just admit I win, of course.”

He gives her one more chance, just the one, to call it off. Byleth doesn’t plan to be gentle with her, and he wants to be sure she’s just as hungry for that as he is.

“Not in a million years,” she hisses, defiant, and he chuckles in response.

“Good. Stay down like a good girl while I get these shorts off you.”

Despite his teasing, she listens, probably because she knows that for anything to happen at all, regardless of who’s on top, they’ll need to have those gone. He presses down on her chest with one hand to keep her steady while he lifts himself off her, just enough to tug her shorts down and away.

As he throws them aside, and follows with his own, he catches her staring at his cock—harder than he thinks it ever has been before—out of the corner of his eye. He smirks.

“What, never seen one before?” he teases, bringing one hand up between her legs and feeling the slickness on her thigh. “Don’t tell me this is your first time or something.”

Leonie snorts, but she doesn’t confirm or deny it. Just as well.

The hand on her thigh moves up further, and he drags two fingers through her folds, noting how wet she is already. He supposes he doesn’t really have much room to talk, given that his own arousal is pretty visible too, but he does feel a little bit of satisfaction at the fact that he’s able to rile her up like this. Even so…

“Tell me how much you want it, Leonie,” Byleth says, positioning his hips in such a way that he can grind his tip against her entrance. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

She whines in at least two different kinds of frustration, squirming again, clearly conflicted. She clearly _does_ want it, but he also knows that her pride is going to make it difficult to get the words out. And, honestly, he knows that _he_ wants it just as badly as she does, but that’s not going to keep him from milking the moment for all its worth. So he reaches down and drags a finger over one of her breasts, flicking his fingertip against the nipple and making her gasp.

“What’s the matter? Need your ego stroked as much as your cock?” Leonie snaps. “You’ve got a woman under you and you can’t even fuck her without grandstanding? Unbelievable.”

He knows she’s baiting him, but he doesn’t really care. Byleth drives his hips forward, sliding inside her with one smooth, precise motion, grunting at the nearly overwhelming feel of her. She clenches around him as she sucks in a breath and shudders.

The two of them remain like that for a moment, Byleth buried to the hilt inside her, before he pulls out halfway, and thrusts in once more. She groans, digging her nails into his arms hard enough that he _swears_ she’s going to break the skin.

“Come on, is that it?” she demands through gritted teeth. “Is that all you can do? I thought you were trying to prove how much stronger you are.”

Leonie meets his eyes, and he can see the fire in them. She wants this—no, she _needs_ this—and she’s going to get it one way or another. So he obliges, pulling out of her almost all the way and shoving himself back in, hard enough to make her choke out a whimper.

“Harder,” she growls, and he does, _harder_ , even as he’s being taken in by her own desires. She feels so _good_ , and he wants it to last, but he suspects that she’ll tolerate nothing less than his best. He feels himself slipping, his ego taking a backseat to the feral, animalistic need to fuck her until she can’t walk; to fill her with his seed and claim her as his own.

So he acquiesces, finding a hard, steady, pounding rhythm that fills the room with the sound of their sex, intermingled with their respective cries. The heat of the sauna combined with the exertion of their fucking is enough to make Byleth lightheaded, and he’s sure she feels the same, but he’s not about to let it show. Leonie wraps her legs around him, keeping him inside her, only letting him pull about three-quarters of the way out before pushing into her again.

One of her hands finds its way down between them, where she starts to stroke at her clit, while her other one goes to the back of his neck. Her fingers tangle into his hair and hold tight, bringing him down to kiss her while he fucks her. The meeting of their mouths, as well, is impassioned and needy and sultry and everything Byleth would ever want it to be, and he cannot conceive of ever wanting to have anyone like this but her.

She’s powerful, graceful, lithe, filled with fire and passion and need and a raw, furious heat that he had only ever had a chance to see on the battlefield before, and he can’t get enough of it. He can’t say if they fuck for five minutes, twenty, or an hour, because the entire world falls away except for the two of them and the grasping, clawing need for every ounce of sensation they can get.

Leonie comes first, which is good, and he can tell by how she growls into his mouth and how her entire body tenses. The growl turns into nearly a _scream_ as he refuses to relent, fucking her through her orgasm as though he hasn’t even noticed it. Her legs tighten, too, and she pulls him deeper, driving the last scant thoughts of pulling out far from his mind.

When her muscles contract around him, that’s the end, and Byleth comes hard enough that his vision goes dark for a moment and stars dance before his eyes. He growls her name, thrusting in and out several times in quick succession, emptying himself into her cunt, feeling nearly _high_ off the way she wriggles beneath him, how greedily she accepts him, the way she clamps her mouth onto his and gives one last little broken whine before loosening her grip and finally going limp.

He comes back to himself a short while later, and realizes he’s nearly collapsed atop Leonie after his orgasm, but he’s managed to keep himself propped up on one arm. Both of them are panting hard, sucking down breath as though they’ve just been held underwater for an hour, and there’s no sound in the sauna but their desperate inhalations and the rush of blood in Byleth’s ears.

Once he’s caught his breath and the logical, reasoning part of his brain begins to function once more, he pulls his hips back and his cock slips out of her, a move that makes both of them cry out. If she’s anywhere near as sensitive as he is after that, he understands completely.

Byleth tries not to consider the potential long-term ramifications of the fact that his come is leaking out of Leonie at the moment and onto the floor of the sauna. He certainly hopes there aren’t any such ramifications, because he isn’t quite sure how he’d explain _that_ to everyone else.

“You okay?” he asks, between breaths. Despite their rivalry, she _is_ still his friend, after all. Well. At _least_ his friend. But they can work that out later.

There’s a pause, and Leonie chuckles, lazily. “Yeah, you’re not bad, but you’re not good enough to knock me out or anything. Give me a few minutes.”

“A few minutes?” he asks, worried she might not be able to move on her own. He didn’t think he was _that_ rough.

“Yeah. Before round two.”

Byleth’s eyes widen in comprehension, and he begins to understand that they have a long, _long_ night ahead of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading, and thanks to my fabulous editor [tansybells](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells). If you would like to follow me on twitter, find me [@spiderlilywrite](https://twitter.com/spiderlilywrite)!


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